Digging
by mrs. wilde
Summary: Quinn-centric one-shot future-fic! Implied Faberry. My first time doing this so please be gentle. I do not own Glee I just wish I did...


_****Just a random little Quinn-centric fic. No plans at the moment to expand on it but may turn it into a two-shot with 2nd chapter from Rachel's POV. I do not own Glee or it's characters. No infringement intended._

**New Haven, Connecticut. **

**November 2012**

Quinn Fabray stared at the blank piece of paper in front of her and scowled. She had been tucked in the same corner of the Sterling Memorial Library for the better part of the afternoon doing mostly this. The resolve and determination that had seen her march from her dorm room across campus earlier that morning had long since left her and she was becoming increasingly frustrated with her lack of progress.

Her worktable was littered with balled up sheets of well intentioned half-starts and doodles of varying detail and quality. Sighing dejectedly she fiddled gently with her Cross fountain pen and watched as the last few rays of the evening sun glinted off the engraving on its barrel. The pen had been a graduation gift from her maternal Grandpa - Francis Quinn.

Her mother's father had been the most important person in Quinn's life growing up – a warm and gentle man, he was a million miles away from the harsh judgement of her father and cold indifference of her mother. One of the greatest sources of pride in Quinn's life was that she was named for him and, (Something he would often jokingly remind her of by saying 'Lucy Q, we have something sacred in common; we were both named after saints!') On the days when she was at her HBIC worst, her greatest shame came from tainting the tradition of her name through malicious and vindictive deeds.

It was through the many Sunday afternoons curled up on Grandpa Quinn's knee that she had discovered and evolved her love of books and reading. Every visit to his house had involved at least one hour of 'story time', where the two would hide themselves away from the rest of the world and read aloud to each other from her Grandpa's endless volumes of literature, poetry and plays.

Tracing her finger over the etching, she took a moment to picture him in her head. "Lucy Q" he would say as he searched along the rows of shelving for a particular book, "Books are the quietest and most constant of friends; they are the most accessible and wisest of counsellors, and the most patient of teachers"* His soft, lilting accent would wash over and envelop her like a warm blanket and for that hour it would feel like there was no one and nothing else in the world apart from the two Quinns and the story they were buried in.

Time spent in their reading room became an escape for Lucy; the insecure, awkward and lonely child and later in life for a refuge for Quinn; the insecure, lonely and self -loathing teenager. Her Grandpa was the only person who truly understood and accepted her and in that room she was free to be anything and anyone she wanted - so chose to be the most difficult thing of all – herself.

She would show him all of her and shared with him her greatest fears and biggest dreams. Their room became like a confessional where she could speak her heart and mind without fear of judgement. The elder Quinn would sit and listen carefully, only interrupting to see clarity on certain items for which he had no frame of reference.

"What is a Glee Club? Oh really? They didn't have them back home when I was a lad."

"A wine cooler? What it is this – a box for the correct storage of wine?"

"A vegan? Do I even want to know?"

"Oh! I have heard of this Gaga character! I overheard your father calling her a degenerate, immoral freak show – she must be good then?"

"What is a Frankenteen?"

When the unthinkable happened and she fell pregnant he had begged her to move in with him but that fatal mixture of stubborn pride and shame sent her running in the opposite direction. After Beth's birth and subsequent adoption he had reached out again and, after a few awkward months (on Quinn's part), they had re-established their routine.

When she showed up one summer's day with pink hair he had given her a strange look before suggesting they re-read Alice In Wonderland. After seven weeks, 'Through The Looking Glass' and 'The Hobbit', her hair had returned to normal and she had begun to speak tentatively about the daughter she had given up, a future away from Lima and a small brunette with a big voice. Those three topics became their conversational bread and butter, even during the months of traction and physical pain following her near fatal car accident. He was the only person who didn't find it odd of the first things Quinn did when she regained consciousness was inquire after Rachel Berry.

On her last visit to her grandpa before heading off for early enrollment at Yale he had presented her with the pen. "Do you see the inscription?' he'd asked, peering over the rims of his glasses, his always bright eyes twinkling with mischief.

She had squinted closer at the gleaming silver and grinned in recognition. "Dig With It." She read. Her Grandpa raised an eyebrow expectantly and so she had playfully rolled her eyes in return before reciting from the verses that had inspired her Grandpa's choice of words. It was both her and her grandpa's favourite poem and smiled gently as she heard him join in softly on the last verse.

"_..Between my finger and my thumb  
The squat pen rests.  
I'll dig with it."_

They finished together and Quinn pulled the older man into a tight embrace.

"I love it Grandpa, thank you" she sniffed into his shoulder.

"Remember" he'd said, "always chose your words carefully, but most important of all, chose your words honestly."

"I will Grandpa, I promise"

The sound of a book being dropped somewhere amongst the stacks of shelving snapped Quinn abruptly from her reverie and she was jarred back to reality and the blank page in front of her.

Smiling faintly she adjusted her grip and put pen to paper.

_Dear Rachel …_

**A/N: **

**For those interested, the poem used is called 'Digging' by Seamus Heaney. Read it here if you like: .**

**No infringement of Mr. Heaney's rights is intended.**

**A/N 2: The quote Grandpa Quinn uses (about books being 'the quietest and most constant of friends….") Is credited to Charles William Eliot**


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